


Six Days

by GreenGarnets



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Episode: s03e01 New Captain, F/M, First Dates, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-02-17 17:19:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13081581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenGarnets/pseuds/GreenGarnets
Summary: "...only six days, but that’s not nothing. It was long enough for me to know that we had something special."So I have officially fallen down the B99 fanfic rabbit hole, and now I want to know what happened in Jake and Amy's first six days as a couple to inspire Jake's toast in The Funeral. Spoilers through 3.01. I claim ownership of nothing except my own dorking out.11 January ETA: rating upgraded to M with the addition of Ch. 3.10 March ETA: Chapter 4 is posted! Apologies for the huge delay, there's been a lot of life happening. Enjoy!





	1. How Jake and Amy broke a rule

Knowing that Amy’s nervous too (and that a dose of liquid courage is on the way) gives Jake the nerve to broach another topic.

He clears his throat. “So I did come up with… an icebreaker… in case the conversation was a little awkward at first,” he begins, reaching into the inside pocket of his blazer.

Amy nods encouragingly, then her eyes widen as she sees that he is pulling out a sheaf of multicolored index cards. “That sounds…interesting,” she says.

“I’m calling it ‘Date Jeopardy!’,” he says with a flourish. “Five categories of Jake-and-Amy-related trivia.”

“No _way_!” she exclaims, her eyes opening even wider. “Are those cards _color-coded_?”

He looks down at his hands, then back at her. “Why, yes, they are,” he says suavely, knowing the very idea that he color-coded something will be making her a little crazy. Then honesty compels him to add, “There was no way I was going to keep them straight otherwise.”

“Well, that’s the magic of organization!” she exclaims.

He almost chokes himself with the effort of not saying, “Title of your sex tape!”, and just then the drinks arrive.

He picks up his first shot. “To Date Jeopardy!”

“To Date Jeopardy!” Amy echoes, and they knock the first one back. Jake feels the warmth and looseness spread out from his stomach immediately, and turns his attention back to the cards.

“Okay, this version has two deviations from regular Jeopardy!, which I hope you will allow,” he says.

She arches an eyebrow and looks at him with mock severity. “What are they?”

“First, we have to go through the categories in order – no jumping around,” he says. “There’s a progression to the topics.”

She purses her lips, then nods. “Okay, I’ll allow that. What’s the second one?”

“You are not required to answer in the form of a question, because some of the answers will be too involved for that,” he says.

She nods again. “Agreed. What are the categories?”

“One at a time, Detective Santiago,” he admonishes, wagging a finger. “The first category is ‘The 9-9’. Shall we kick off with our second shot?”

She raises her glass with a smile. “We shall. To the 9-9!”

“9-9!” he says, and knocks it back. “First question: for $100: the breed and age of Cheddar.”

She furrows her brow. “What is Welsh Corgi and…” she taps her lips with her fingers “…nine?”

“Correct!” Jake proclaims, moving the card to the bottom of the pile with a flourish. “Next! For $200:…”

They work through the first category, finishing with “For $500: The keycode for the evidence room and the last person who changed it – bonus $100 if you know what it means” (“What is 9481 and who is Gina? Bonus: what is Beyonce’s birthday?”) as their waitress arrives to ask if they’d like to order. Jake, having previewed the options at work, suggests they split an appetizer and then orders his own main, while Amy quickly scans the menu she’d forgotten to look at until that moment.

They drink their third shot to celebrate the successful completion of both Round 1 _and_ ordering food (and a bottle of wine), then Jake gets ready to announce Round 2.

“Hang on,” Amy interrupts, “how are we scoring this game? How are we going to know who’s winning?”

“Well…” Jake says, staring at the cards, “…so, I know the answers to some of these but not all of them. So, we each get points for all the answers we know? I don’t know, I was too busy coming up with questions to work that part out.”

Amy concentrates, frowning. “Oooo-kay, yeah, that makes sense. But someone has to keep score! And what’s the prize if we win?”

“Ooh, I worked out the prize!” Jake exclaims. “The winner gets to pick where we go for dessert, and I’ve already got mine picked out for when I win. _And_ it relates to the $500 question in the next category.”

“Hey, slow down there, Peralta,” Amy warns, leaning across the table and poking him in the shoulder with a wicked grin. “You haven’t won _yet_.”

“Oh, but I will,” Jake says with a grin of his own, waggling his eyebrows.

She starts to respond with another round of their usual trash talk, then sits back and smiles wide and slow, and he feels his stomach twist. She reaches into her handbag and pulls out a pen, then reaches across and slides one of the used index cards out of his hand, brushing his fingers as she does so, and he actually shivers. If she notices, she doesn't give any indication; just turns over the card to the blank side and poises her pen to write.

“We’ll see about that,” she says airily, smiling at him. “So - $1500 each for Round 1?”

He clears his throat again. “Sounds about right,” he says. “No, wait, $1600 including the bonus." 

"Oh, right." She nods and makes some notes, and he looks back at the cards. "Okay, Round 2 is Favorite Things!”

“A toast to Favorite Things!” Amy says, and they drink their fourth shot.

In Round 2 they have to answer questions about each other’s favorite things (“Amy’s favorite color Post-It note.” “What is cyan, because it looks so nice with the NYPD folders?” “Jake’s favorite blue drink.” “What is NRG Blue Raspberry Sizzle Blaster, duuuuuude?”). The waitress delivers a bottle of wine and their shared appetizer, and then Jake reads the $500 item: Amy’s favorite guilty secret dessert and where it comes from.

Amy freezes in the act of reaching for a piece of bread and fixes Jake with a stare. “There is _no way_ you know the answer to that question.”

“Don’t you mean question to that answer?” he asks gleefully, picking up his wine glass. “And not only do I know what it is – I already bought one to have for dessert because they close at 8pm!”

“No way,” she repeats in a whisper.

“Waaaay,” he says. “What is the Ring Ding Cake from Maya’s Bake Shop?”

She sits back in her chair. “ _How_ do you know that?”

He shrugs like it’s no big thing. “You told me yourself last year, remember? When we were on that stakeout in Cobble Hill, right around the corner. About your Tia Carmela when you were growing up buying you and your brothers junk food on the sly because your mom was so strict? And I was over there today – when I got my hair cut,” he explains, pointing at his head. “And I remembered when I walked by the bakery. That was actually how I got the idea for Date Jeopardy.” Suddenly he feels a little embarrassed by this detailed explanation, and clears his throat. “Is it creepy and stalkerish that I remembered that?”

She puts her head on one side as though she’s thinking about it, and he feels momentarily panicky. Then she leans forward and puts her hand on his, and says in a very low voice that only he can hear, “No, it’s kind of amazing.”

And the panicky feeling changes into something else entirely.

Rounds 3 and 4 take them through their appetizer, main course, and a bottle of wine, and involve longer answers and things they actually don’t know about each other. Round 3 is ‘Follow-Ups’, where they have to provide backstories for well-known facts (featuring “How Jake found out he’s allergic to bees”, for which Amy’s guess is hilariously off the mark). Round 4 is ‘New York Stories’, where they delve into their respective Brooklyn childhoods, and Jake is scandalized to learn that Amy’s answer to ‘A famous New York landmark you’ve never visited’ is ‘What is Coney Island?’.

“Ames, how is it possible that you _grew up_ in Brooklyn and have never been to Coney Island?”

This time it’s Amy’s turn to shrug. “My mom liked Jacob Riis Park better, so we always went there to go to the beach. She said Coney Island had gotten too run-down and depressing, and that there was nothing there anymore.”  

“‘Nothing there’?” Jake repeats incredulously. “What about Nathan’s Famous?”

“Jake, my mom wouldn’t cross the street for a hot dog, let alone trek all the way to Coney Island,” Amy says with a dismissive handwave, and they both burst out laughing.

Just then the waitress comes to remove the empty plates, and asks about coffee or dessert. Jake looks at Amy inquiringly.

“I think we’re all set,” Amy tells the waitress, with an in-joke smile for Jake. “Could we just have the check, please?”

While they wait, Amy excuses herself to go to the bathroom, and Jake watches her go, noting with relief that her balance is fine and her walk steady. Despite their plan to get ‘super drunk’, he thinks they’re both actually just loose enough to get past the awkwardness and enjoy each other’s company. (Clearly the hard-drinking 9-9 has trained them both to hold their liquor, he thinks, grinning to himself.)

He manages to pay the check before Amy gets back (breathing a sigh of relief that his credit card isn’t declined), and is tucking the receipt into his jacket (because _of course_ he’ll be filing it like a responsible adult, stop laughing like that) when she drops back into her seat. She, of course, immediately notices what he’s doing.

“Hey, did you already pay the check?” she asks. “Weren’t we going to split it?”

“Were we?” he asks innocently. “Well, you can get the next one.”

She doesn’t say anything in response to that – just gives him another wide, shining-eyed smile that makes his heart thump. Then she blushes and looks down at the index card where she’s been haphazardly attempting to keep score throughout dinner, and shakes her head.

“I have no idea what the score is,” she says ruefully. “Usually I’m so good at staying on top of things.”

Jake manages to strangle his gleeful shriek at this double entendre into a cough, then pushes back his chair and stands up. “Maybe some fresh air will help us make sense of it,” he suggests, and offers his hand to help her up.

She takes it, and keeps hold of it as they leave the restaurant.

Outside it’s a mild late-spring evening. Amy, who is always cold, shivers as a breeze hits her, and Jake wraps an arm around her shoulders as they start walking in the direction of his apartment.

“So if we don’t know who’s winning, how are we going to decide where to go for dessert?” he asks her jokingly.

“Oh, we’re going to your place,” she says firmly. “I’m not going to pass up Ring Ding cake, even if I’m pretty sure I’m winning.” She gives him a cheeky smile.

“Uh-huh,” he laughs. They reach a corner and he pushes the walk button with his free hand, then turns back to her. “Well, I don’t want you to think I was intentionally planning for any rule-breaking to happen, so if the combination of Jake and cake is going to be too much for you, we can always take it outside and eat it on a bench.”

She looks up at him with a small smile, then leans in and says, very low, “That might be a necessary precaution.” Then, as he feels his knees literally go weak (and he never even knew that was a real thing until this moment, he thought it was just something people said), she slides an arm around his waist and kisses him. For realz.

Apparently Six-Drink Amy (or is it Seven?) is cool with PDA on Brooklyn street corners. Who knew?

Jake decides to go with the flow, and they completely miss the walk signal.

When they get back to Jake’s apartment (uncharacteristically tidy and already tastefully pre-lit, damn the electric bill), he ushers her inside and proudly indicates a small bakery box sitting on the coffee table, with a knife, forks, and plates waiting alongside. She goes straight for it, dropping her handbag on the floor en route and sitting down with a thud to open the box. He comes to sit next to her just as she bursts out laughing, having revealed the cake, which has ‘$500’ iced in white across its shiny chocolate top.

She turns and looks at him intently. “How do you do it, Peralta?” she asks with a grin.

He puts an arm around her and shrugs. “Honestly, I have no idea.”

She smiles. “Thank you. I love it,” she says, and kisses him again. Jake kisses her back enthusiastically, one arm around her back and sliding the other one into her hair, then remembers about how they’re supposed to be following rules and gently, reluctantly pulls back.

He clears his throat. “Aren’t you going to cut it?” he asks, his voice scratchy.

She visibly takes a deep breath, then smiles at him. “Oh yeah!”

She cuts two thick slices and hands him one, and they sit back to eat in comfortable silence, shoulder to shoulder on the couch.

“Oh my God, this is so good,” Amy murmurs after a few bites, and the back of Jake’s neck prickles. Then she turns to look at him as if something’s just occurred to her.

“Hey,” she says. “We haven’t done Category 5 yet. What is it?”

He can feel his face getting hot as she looks at him. “Oh, we don’t have to,” he demurs.

He should know better by now that this approach is not going to deflect Amy from her purpose, and sure enough, she leans in again. But instead of threatening or challenging him, she decides to try a tactic that's new to him – being persuasive.

“C’mon, tell me,” she says softly, looking into his eyes. “It must be something good if you saved it for the end. What is it?”

He swallows around the lump that has suddenly appeared in his throat (maybe some cake got stuck, he thinks wildly as he stares back at her), then says, almost in a whisper, “Secrets”.

He sees a blush spread across her cheeks, but she doesn’t draw back or break eye contact. He sees her swallow, and then she says, “I’m going to break a rule: What’s the $500 question?”

He coughs. “But Amy, you hate breaking rules,” he says quietly, half joking and half asking a question.  

She looks at him knowingly, and responds to the second half. “I don’t mind if there’s a good reason, or if it turns out it was a dumb rule in the first place.”

He looks away to put his plate down on the table and pull out the index cards, even though he already knows what the question is. She puts her own plate down while he riffles through the pack to the last card. Then he looks up at her and swallows again.

His throat still feels scratchy, but he’s going for it. ( _eyes closed head first can’t lose_ ) “Subject of your last…R-rated…dream.”

She blushes even more, but she also smiles. “Oh, that’s easy. Who is you?”

He smiles too. “Ditto,” he says, and then it’s a good thing they’ve put all the breakables and sharp objects out of the way.


	2. All I wanna hear you say is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2! Jake and Amy celebrate their one-day anniversary.

Considering his usual inclinations, Charles disappears with remarkable speed and tact. Amy double-checks to make sure he’s really gone, then steps in to kiss Jake. (For a good long time. She feels the need to make up for missed – and thwarted – and almost discarded - opportunities earlier in the day.)

Eventually she remembers that they’re still standing in the open doorway of his apartment, and pulls back. A little.

“Hey,” she says with a smile.

“Hey, girlfriend,” Jake sing-songs affectionately, then frowns. “That was supposed to sound more like Ryan Gosling and less like, you know, Niecy Nash. How’d I do?”

“Nailed it,” Amy sing-songs back, trying not to laugh at him and then realizing he’s now trying not to laugh at her. “I know, title of my sex tape, go ahead.”

“ _Our_ sex tape,” he corrects gleefully, then also seems to realize they’re still halfway out in the hall. “Hey, want to come in? Oh wait, that sounded bad. Want to go eat?”

She laughs again. “Were you and Charles going somewhere?”

“Well, we were going to dinner, but then we had a talk, and he punched me a few times, and I decided I was going to see you. But then you were here when I opened the door – thanks for saving me the trip, by the way - so maybe we should get dinner instead?”

Amy frowns, trying to track this narrative. “So did I mess up your plans with Charles?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Jake says, waving a hand airily. “Trust me, he would much rather it was this way. Especially since I would have spent literally the entire night talking about you.”

“Oh, well, in that case it’s probably much more efficient if you just talk _to_ me instead,” Amy says with exaggerated seriousness.

“Much more,” Jake agrees, equally seriously. “Especially if we combine it with eating, because I am _starving_.” He pulls the door shut behind him, and they start down the stairs.

“So where were you and Charles going?” Amy asks as they leave the building.

“Just to my local Chinese, a couple of blocks down,” Jake says, pointing in the general direction. “Sound okay to you?”

“I don’t know,” Amy says dubiously. “If Charles agrees to go to a restaurant, doesn’t it mean they have some horrible specialty involving parts of animals that most people would never want to eat?”

“Nah, Charles likes it because they do authentic Szechuan and they make his food so hot I’m expecting his head to blow off one of these days,” Jake explains. “But they also make standard Chinese food for people with typical palates. And they make _great_ scallion pancakes,” he adds meaningfully. (He knows this is her weakness.)

“Say no more, lead the way,” she says. He grabs her hand and sets off.

Amy notices how the manager slaps Jake on the back when they arrive, and that they get a table immediately, even though it’s a busy Saturday night. Also how their waiter comes straight over with two cold beers in hand along with the menus, and asks Jake if he wants the usual starters, giving Amy a covert inspection while they talk. She sees him wink at Jake as he hands over the menus and leaves. (Jake acts as if this is all perfectly normal, and for him, Amy reflects, it probably is.)

Jake turns to her and raises his beer, and she follows suit. “Here’s to our one-day anniversary!” he proclaims, clinking his bottle against hers and taking a swig.

“Hear, hear!” she says. “Possibly the most eventful first day of a relationship ever.”

“ _Re-la-tion-ship_ ,” Jake repeats, slowly and with emphasis. “Cool.”

“Well, we’ve gotta call it something, I don’t think that ‘no labels’ thing is really going to be practical,” Amy says with a shrug, taking a mouthful of beer.

“Yeah, and I suppose ‘galaxy-shattering event’ wouldn’t really work around the precinct,” Jake says thoughtfully, and Amy almost spits the beer back out.

He pats her on the back solicitously as she manages to swallow. “Jeez, Santiago, I can’t take you anywhere.”

She pokes him in the shoulder, which jogs her memory about something he said earlier. “Hey, why was Charles punching you? Is he normally abusive?”

“Yes, everybody abuses me, as you can see,” he says, rubbing his shoulder with a martyred expression, then grins and takes another drink. He swallows it and says, “Actually he was telling me off for not taking our _re-la-tion-ship_ seriously enough.”

“Wow, really?” Amy says, trying to picture the scene.

“Yes, he said, and I quote, ‘“Light and breezy” is how you describe a linen pantsuit, not a relationship you care about’.” He smiles ruefully.

Amy thinks this over. “You know, I admire that about Charles – when he goes for something, he doesn’t hold anything back. Whatever the cost, he’s all in.”

“Yep,” Jake agrees. “The word ‘caution’ is not in his vocabulary.”

“Yeah, but that’s true for you, too, isn’t it?” Amy points out.

Jake scrunches his face up. “Sometimes. Life-threatening assignments – sure! Talking about feelings – not so much!”

Amy grimaces. “Well, at least you don’t overthink _everything._ ”

“Hey, Ames,” Jake says, taking her hand (which simultaneously feels completely natural and makes her spine tingle) and looking at her intently, “don’t put yourself down. You’re smart and you’re thorough and you’re careful. It’s what makes you such a good cop.”

She smiles back at him. “Thanks, Jake. But I still wish that at least sometimes I could just act first and think about every. single. possible. consequence later.”

“Oh yeah?” he says, raising his eyebrows. “What would you do?”

She straightens her spine and looks at him. “Well, for one thing, I would’ve told you to ask me out for real after our fake date, or maybe just asked you out myself, instead of acting like an idiot for more than a year.”

His eyes widen, and he throws out his hands. “Twinsies!” Then he clears his throat and composes himself, and reaches over to squeeze her hand again. “See – feelings!”

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Maybe we should ask Charles to tutor us.”

Jake lets go of her hand and picks up the menus. “Yeah, great idea! Except that Charles would advise us to move in together immediately and start trying to have a baby, so his instincts aren’t exactly flawless.” He hands her a menu and adds, “And if he were here right now, he’d also encourage you to try the _fuqi feipian_.”

“Which is?” Amy asked dubiously, scanning her own menu.

“Cow intestines cooked with an amount of chili pepper that would probably kill me,” Jake explains. “I dunno, maybe that’s your thing and I’ve just never noticed? I don’t judge. You do you. But we’re not sharing in that case.”

Amy laughs. “I’d rather share,” she says. “What are you in the mood for?”

*~*~*~*~*

Over dinner they discuss the work-related events of the day. Jake, typically, does not beat around the bush.

“So, we killed our captain,” he says conversationally. “How are we feeling about that?”

Amy groans. “Staggering under a crushing load of guilt and mortification?” she suggests.

“Yep, yep,” Jake agrees. “Also wondering who’s going to upload the surveillance tape to YouTube and make our humiliation global? My money’s on Gina.”

“Absolutely,” Amy says grimly, dunking a slice of scallion pancake in sauce. “I called my dad today.”

“To tell him how we killed Dozerman?” Jake asks, appalled.

“What? No!” Amy says. “To get his take on what’s going to happen with our captain – how they’ll pick the next one.”

“What did he say?”

“He said the same thing he said last time I asked him, before Captain Holt came,” Amy says morosely, with a shrug. “That there’s a crazy amount of political maneuvering involved and no way to predict who’s going to end up where. And to just focus on doing good work.” Suddenly she makes a connection, and a wave of horror washes over her. “Oh my God! He _is_ going to find out we killed Dozerman,” she moans. “He still talks to tons of people on the force. Someone’s bound to tell him, and he’s going to be so disappointed in me. _Way_ worse than Terry.” She drops her chopsticks and covers her face.

Jake pats her on the shoulder. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll all be too terrified to mention it,” he suggests optimistically. He’s heard stories about Amy’s dad - some from her and some from the old-timers around the precinct. He’s never met him, but he from what he knows, he thinks it would take a special kind of cluelessness to make someone present Victor Santiago with a salacious story about his cherished only daughter. “And hey, at least it’s not an _actual_ sex tape!”

Normally this response would make Amy want to punch Jake, but she’s in the mood to take on whatever positive thinking he’s dishing out. (Also, although she won’t admit it, he’s more right than he knows. She can easily imagine how things might have progressed if Dozerman had come in five minutes later. Turns out Jake’s ability to undermine her self-control is even more extensive than she had realized.)

She lifts her head and smiles at him. “You know, you’re right. It could definitely be worse.”

“Of course! I’m always right,” he says cheekily. “The funeral will be super awkward, but then some other scandal will come along and it’ll all blow over.”

She nods. “‘Even the most crashing social bricks make but a ripple in the ocean of time’,”* she quotes.

“Indeed,” Jake intones, doing his best impression of an elderly British lady, and she laughs and picks up her chopsticks again.

*~*~*~*~*

Tonight Amy goes to the bathroom before they ask for the check, and pays at the counter on her way there. Their waiter happens to be at the register, and this time he gives _her_ a wink.

“Enjoyed your dinner?” he asks with a grin.

“Yes, everything was great!” she says, smiling back. “Could we get some takeout containers? We ordered way too much.”

“No problem, I’ll bring them right over,” he says, handing back her credit card. “Nice to see my boy Jake having such a good time. He’s a good guy.”

“Yeah, he is,” she agrees. She can feel herself blushing, even more so when he gives her an approving nod.

When she gets back to the table, there’s a bag of leftovers sitting there and Jake fixes her with a hard stare as she sits down.

“What?” she challenges. “You said I could get the next one!”

He grimaces and shakes his head. “Santiago style. Always one step ahead.” Then his face brightens. “Hey, that reminds me – don’t we have the same day off this week?”

She nods. “I think so – Monday?”

“Yes!” he says enthusiastically. “Want to do something?”

“Sure,” she says. “What?”

“What do you normally do on days off?” he asks.

She thinks. “I don't know, nothing special. Errands? Chores?”

“Aaaa-my!” he groans with mock despair. “What do you do for _fun_?” He gasps. “Oh my God, you think chores are fun, don’t you?”

“Shut up!” she says, poking him in the shoulder again.

“Ow! More abuse!” he wails. “Okay, _I_ will plan something fun. Jake and Amy’s Big Day Out. I already have an idea, in fact,” he says, with a mischievous grin.

“Are you going to tell me about it, or is it a surprise?”

“Definitely a surprise,” he declares. “I need another one to counteract my weak second-date execution.”

“What are you talking about? This is a great second date!” she protests.

He arches an eyebrow and gives her an extremely sceptical look. “An unplanned dinner at my neighbourhood Chinese restaurant? C’mon!”

“It is!” she insists. “Usually second dates are like second interviews. They’re super intense and weird, trying to be relaxed but still figure out if there’s enough going on to justify a third date….This has been…” she tails off, then decides to be brave “…perfect. It was just what I was wishing for after everything that happened today.”

His face softens and he gives her a glowing smile that makes her breath hitch. “Yeah, me too,” he says. Then his smile widens into his usual playful grin. “And I’ve got a suggestion for after dinner, too.”

“Oh?” she says, arching her eyebrows suggestively.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Santiago!” he says sternly. “I’m talking about leftover cake.”

“Oooh yeah, that’s good too,” she says, and feels a little thrill when she sees that she’s actually made him blush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from "R U Mine?" by Arctic Monkeys.
> 
> *Quote is from the great Harriet Vane in Dorothy Sayers' _Gaudy Night_


	3. And now I know you've always been

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day Three: Jake and Amy contend with the envulturing of the 99 (among other things).

The workday does not improve following The Vulture’s arrival.

Amy has been helping Rosa build a case against a suspected serial predator – a guy who’s been picking up women in local bars, then roofie-ing their drinks, taking them somewhere nearby, and eventually leaving them in a remote corner of Prospect Park. They had gotten a lead yesterday from a woman who came in with a selfie that includes a possible suspect, and they’ve been following up on previous reports and asking women who have information to come in. Gina has even helped by suggesting they put the word out on social media, and as a result they’ve lined up interviews with six women over the course of the day.

The Vulture is leaning against the doorframe during Rosa’s briefing. When she puts up a copy of the selfie, he comments, “I can see it. She’s pretty hot.”

Luckily Amy is standing next to Rosa, so she can physically restrain her from lunging out from behind the lectern. Terry, who looks as though steam is about to start coming out of his ears, loudly asks to speak to the new captain in private and propels him out of the room.

“The only upside I can think of is that he apparently doesn’t think any of this is serious enough to turn over to Major Crimes,” Amy says to Rosa later, when they’re between interviews and she’s sitting at Charles’ desk, marking up a timeline with what they’ve got so far.

Rosa looks up from her computer, where she’s reviewing security camera footage, and gives a death glare in the direction of the captain’s office. The door is closed and The Vulture’s boots are visible, propped up on the desk. “Wouldn’t it be ironic if someone who used to work for Major Crimes ended up being the victim of a major crime?” she says through gritted teeth.

Before Amy can respond, a patrolwoman escorts their next interviewee into the bullpen: a small, red-headed woman in her twenties, wearing a summer dress and trembling visibly. Rosa stands up quickly and her ferocious expression softens into something much graver and more solicitous.

“You must be Ms. Franklin?” she says quietly, coming forward. The woman nods in reply, and Rosa says, “Thank you so much for taking the time to come in here and talk to us. Detective Santiago and I really appreciate it.” By now Amy is also on her feet and crossing the bullpen. She knows Rosa is worried about coming across as too intimidating; it’s one of the reasons she asked Amy to work the case with her.

“Hi, Ms. Franklin, thanks for coming in,” she echoes. She doesn’t offer to shake hands, leaving it up to the other woman to make the first move. “This is Detective Rosa Diaz, and I’m Detective Amy Santiago, and we thought we could talk in the briefing room over here, where it’s quieter.”

By the time they’ve finished talking to everyone, and compiling information into the timeline Amy has set up, it’s after 9pm. Amy has barely seen Jake since the morning briefing; he’s been out with Charles most of the day, working an armed robbery, and she’s been in interviews every time he’s passed through.

“I’m so tired I can’t think straight anymore,” Rosa says, running her hands through her hair as they stand in front of the evidence board. “What a day.”

“Well, one thing we know that we didn’t know this morning,” Amy says, pointing to the timeline, “is that, assuming these are all the same guy, he only does this on the weekend. All the attacks we know about have been on Friday or Saturday nights.”

“Let’s hope that gives us a breather to track him down,” Rosa says, nodding. “I have to go home and get some sleep. You’re off tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, but do you need me for something?” Amy asks.

“Nah, it’s okay. I’m going to hit some of these clubs with photos and see if anyone knows this guy,” Rosa says. “I can grab Boyle or Peralta to come with me.”

“I think Jake might be off too,” Amy says hesitantly.

Rosa smirks at her knowingly. “Is that so? Got plans?”

Amy blushes. “Maybe?” she says uncertainly.

“Oh man, I could give you such a hard time,” Rosa grins, “but I won’t. Thanks for your help today, girl. Having you in there made a big difference in those interviews.”

“Thanks, Rosa,” Amy says shyly. “You did a great job running them.”

Rosa nods and looks back at the evidence board. “I think we’re closing in on this guy. I’m out – see you Tuesday. Make sure you get some rest – don’t stay up too late,” she says with an arched eyebrow.

“Ha ha,” Amy says, and Rosa stalks out with a smirk.

Amy goes back to her desk to wrap things up for the day. Even though she feels good about the work she and Rosa did today, it doesn’t cancel out her misery at the prospect of having The Vulture as her CO. She looks around at the captain’s office. It’s empty now – The Vulture went home promptly at 5 – but she can see his kettlebells through the window, and it increases her gloom.

As she stares at the empty office, which she still thinks of as Captain Holt’s, she realizes that she’s not down just because of the presence of The Vulture in her daily life now – as a superior, no less - as awful as that is. It’s also because of the absence of Captain Holt: of a _real_ leader, one who cared about all of them and pushed them to be the best they could be. They had all changed so much in the last two years, and their lives and their team were different and better as a result. She remembers what it was like when Captain McGinley was in charge, and there was no leadership at all. She doesn’t even want to think about going back to that, let alone whatever horrible things might emerge from The Vulture’s leadership.

She turns back to the paperwork she’s cleaning up, but she can’t focus. She thinks about going home soon; about curling up on the couch with some mindless TV and a bowl of her mom’s rice and beans that she remembered to take out of the freezer this morning. That doesn’t help her concentrate either; it just makes her feel lonely as well as sad, and she finds herself staring at Jake’s empty desk instead. It feels like a long time since she’s talked to him, and she wishes she had an excuse to text him.

Then she remembers she doesn’t need an excuse anymore, and opens the drawer where her bag is. Her phone buzzes as she sticks her hand in to find it.

_Hey ames where u at?_

She smiles at his apparent remote mind-reading.

_Still at work, trying to get motivated to finish up and go home. :(_

_Wld a ride home with a very hot driver cheer u up? :)_

_Maybe… ;)_

_Then wrap up quick n c u in 15 :*_

Necessary motivational boost provided, she wraps up what’s on her desk – or enough of it to allow her to (hopefully) forget about it for 36 hours – and shuts everything down in not-quite-15 minutes, but definitely less than 20. Her phone buzzes again when she’s shutting down her computer.

_Ur Peraltuber has arrived!_

When she gets downstairs, Jake is leaning against the hood of his car, talking to one of the guys from Vice. When he sees her, he stands up with a big smile on his face. The other guy looks around with an understanding grin and takes off with a wave to both of them. Amy waves back and stops in front of Jake with a smile that even she can tell isn’t very convincing.

“Hey, you look wrecked,” Jake says, grasping her upper arms lightly. “You okay?”

She just nods, feeling so completely drained but also so happy to see him that she doesn’t know how to respond. So she takes another step forward and drops her head on his shoulder, hoping that he’ll know what to do next. Thankfully he does, and he immediately wraps his arms around her and hugs her tightly, burying his nose in her hair and kissing the top of her head (standing in front of the precinct be damned). She slides her arms around his waist and shifts her head so that she doesn’t get smothered by his hoodie, and then they just stay like that for a bit.

After a few minutes he loosens his hold and pulls back to peer down into her face. “Are you sure everything’s okay?” he asks worriedly. He’s slid one hand up to the back of her neck, and he can feel the tension there.

Amy nods again. Then, as she feels his warm hand gently rubbing the back of her aching neck, she’s horrified to feel her eyes prickling with tears. She hates crying, and she hates crying at work, or about anything to do with work, even more. And she hates crying in front of other people most of all. And now here she is, hitting the trifecta of emotional meltdown – crying, at work, in front of her boyfriend of two days.

Except of course that it’s not any old boyfriend: it’s Jake, and he’s seen it all before. So he just hugs her again, gives her a kiss on the cheek, murmurs “I’ve got tissues in the car” in her ear, and steers her to the passenger’s side door, knowing that she’d rather not do this in public.

He slides in on his side as she’s rooting around in the glove compartment for the tissues (which are of course actually fast-food napkins). He leans over and puts his hand on the back of her neck again. “Drive or talk?” he asks quietly.

“Drive, please,” she says, wiping her eyes, and he puts the car in gear without further ado.

He doesn’t push her to talk, or turn the radio on, and the 15-minute drive to her apartment is silent except for Amy sniffling and blowing her nose. He parks the car out front, but leaves the engine running. Then he turns to her and says, “Stay or go?”

“Stay,” she says. “Please.”

“I don’t have to,” he says. “I completely understand if you want to be alone, and I don’t mind.”

“I want you to,” she says. “If you want to.”

He doesn’t say anything in response, just smiles and turns off the engine.

They don’t talk on the way upstairs either; as they wait for the elevator in silence, Jake takes Amy’s hand and keeps hold of it, squeezing it gently from time to time. They’re the only ones in the elevator and she leans against him.

When they get inside her apartment, she turns on some lights and then waves in the general direction of the living room. “Make yourself at home,” she says. “I’m just going to go change.”

She’s back in a few minutes, in sweats and a hoodie of her own. Jake leans in the kitchen doorway and watches as she pulls out the container of rice and beans.

“Dinner,” she says, sticking it in the microwave and setting it to reheat. “Want some?”

“Nah, I already ate,” he says. She goes back to the fridge and hands him two beers, then goes to the cabinet and pulls out two bowls. He opens the beers and hands one back to her, then clinks his bottle against hers without making a toast. “Want to talk yet?”

She shrugs wearily and takes a swig of her beer, then opens the utensil drawer and pulls out two spoons. He watches her with bemusement, thinking maybe she’s just on autopilot.

The microwave dings and she pulls out the container to stir it and make sure it’s heating evenly. He catches a whiff of Mrs. Santiago’s rice and beans and suddenly his stomach rumbles. Loudly.

Amy smiles a little half-smile. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure you’re gonna have some.”

“Far be it from me to diss Mrs. Santiago’s food,” Jake says with mock resignation.

They don’t speak again until they’re on the couch with bowls of food. Jake has his legs stretched out on the coffee table; Amy is curled up cross-legged.

Jake takes a big mouthful and makes a loud yummy noise. “Oh man, this is _so good_ ,” he mumbles. He chews and swallows, then turns sideways to focus on Amy. She looks at him warily, spoon halfway to her mouth.

“Eat that,” he prompts her gently. When she’s chewing, he says, “So. What’s going on? What happened today?”

She swallows and shrugs again. “I don’t know…nothing in particular. I mean, doing the interviews was awful, but it’s always awful in those kinds of cases. I don’t know why it’s getting me down so much today?”

Jake cocks an eyebrow at her. “D’you think maybe it’s because you started the day with everything you and Rosa are trying to do being undermined by our so-called CO?”

“Probably,” Amy says morosely, picking up her beer and taking a swig. “But we’ve had useless COs before. I should be able to cope.”

“Yeah, but when we had McGinley, we didn’t know any better, so we just dealt with it. Now we know what it’s like to have a real leader, and we know not having one is going to make it harder to do our jobs. Right?” Amy nods. “Also, McGinley was just, I don’t know, kind of a _void_ , y’know? We could pretty much ignore him. Whereas The Vulture is going to actively work hard to make our lives hell.”

Amy grimaces at him. “Is this how you’re going to try to make me feel better? Because you’re doing a terrible job.”

Jake answers through the enormous mouthful of rice and beans he’d inserted after he finished talking. “No!” He swallows and continues. “I’m just saying that you’re not wrong to feel upset. _But_ also, things are different now than they were two years ago.”

“How?” Amy says, sounding unconvinced.

“C’mon, Ames,” Jake cajoles. “We’re older and smarter. We’re _definitely_ smarter than The Vulture. We’ve learned a ton from working under Captain Holt. I am positive we can figure out a way to neutralize The Vulture. Maybe even get Captain Holt back. We _will_ come up with a plan.”

Amy doesn’t respond, just looks at him. He’s looking at her intently, his face bright with optimism and resolve, and she knows that he absolutely believes what he’s saying, that they’ll find a way somehow. She’s known Jake long enough to know that this is how he copes with adversity; and that most of the time, with his own particular combination of intelligence, courage, and persistence, he usually does find a way. She feels like he’s offering her a gift: taking her problem seriously, and offering his considerable resources to help solve it.

She doesn’t say anything in response, but she smiles, and she feels like it’s the first time today that she’s smiled for real. She can tell from his answering smile that he thinks so, too. He leans forward and kisses her, then pulls back and smiles again.

“Finish your dinner,” he says, nudging her gently with his elbow. “We’ve got a whole day tomorrow to make a plan.”

She’s completely forgotten that a) she has tomorrow off and b) they’re spending it together, and the effect of remembering is immediate and cheering. She turns back to her dinner, inching a little closer to Jake so that their shoulders are touching.

*~*~*~*~*~*

She’s got a stack of DVR’ed episodes of _Barney Miller_ , and they decide to watch some of those while they finish dinner (“The 12th Precinct never had captain problems,” Jake hears Amy mutter resentfully at one point), which of course leads to Amy dozing off on the couch and Jake not wanting to disturb her, which of course leads to Jake dozing off on the couch.

Amy wakes up sometime around 2am in a darkened room (because _of course_ everything plugged in is on a timer). She’s not entirely sure where she is at first, other than that she’s lying down and covered with one of her grandmother’s afghans, and that Jake is lying next to her, sound asleep with his head in the crook of her neck, his arms around her waist, and one of her legs sandwiched between his. She’s more than half asleep herself, and even though she thinks she should probably try to shift them to the bed, she’s too warm and sleepy and content to do anything about it.

This is new, she thinks. She and Jake have dozed off in front of the TV plenty of times, but until now they’ve never ended up more intertwined than heads on shoulders or feet on laps. Funny how, even in their sleep, they realize the rules have changed.

Amy knows it’s a bad idea to make comparisons between relationships, but it’s hard even for anyone, even her, to be _most appropriate_ when you’re half asleep, so she thinks about how she feels more comfortable and more involved after three days in a relationship with Jake than she did after three months with Teddy. It’s probably not that surprising, given how well she and Jake already know each other.

Also, if Amy’s being honest with herself (which she has recently realized she hasn’t been, surprisingly often, in the past year), she knows that her relationship with Teddy was always tied up with Jake. She knows, deep down, that she never would have flirted as enthusiastically with Teddy as she had at Tactical Village Day if Jake hadn’t been covertly (and jealously, she’d half-consciously hoped even then) watching the whole thing unfold. And she’d suspected even then that Jake’s breaking the course record that day had been an expression of his jealousy, rather than just his normal competitiveness. And she knows – because she remembers thinking it – that that was the first time that she thought about what it would be like to have sex with Jake. Not about what it would be like to kiss him, or be his girlfriend, or any of the romantic, longing, half-formed-crush thoughts that had been lurking in the back of her mind for months, but specific, explicit, physical thoughts. Because when he’d gone into Vic Kovak mode, intense and focused and with no fooling around about what he wanted, she had thought to herself, _That’s how he’d be if you were alone with him and he was really into you_ , and felt like she was blushing and tingly all over. She’d tried to convince herself it was embarrassment over thinking something like that about a work colleague, but she knew it wasn’t. And that night, after she’d gone out to dinner with Teddy and kissed him good night…she’d gone to bed and dreamt about Jake, and woken up sweaty and aroused, with a very clear picture in her head of what it might be like.

Based upon the last two nights, her assessment had been pretty accurate – and (at the risk of making comparisons again) very different from Teddy. Or from anyone else in her previous experience, all of whom she would have described with phrases like _nice enough¸ pretty good, not bad_.

None of those apply here. Amy’s not into hyperbole, but even with the inevitable first- and second-night awkwardness here and there, it’s been…kind of...amazing. Not so much technique (although no complaints there) but the whole…connection.

Even inside her own head, she feels inarticulate and embarrassed; but she also wants to touch him. She loves how warm his skin is, and she slides her hand under the hem of his t-shirt and into the small of his back.

He responds immediately, with a funny little noise in the back of his throat that sounds like a cross between a purr and a growl, and pulls her closer, sliding one hand under the edge of her hoodie, just above her hipbone. He begins kissing his way up her neck, and she scooches down and turns towards him so she can kiss him back, arching her hips into him and sliding her hands into the waistband of his pants.

 _Vic Kovak is back_ , she thinks with drowsy satisfaction as, after asking “Is this okay?” in a low murmur (“Yes,” she whispers back, sliding her hands down even further), he proceeds, with previously noted thoroughness and focus, to remove all impediments to demonstrating that he is, indeed, really into her. Half-asleep Jake is apparently more comfortable with feelings than his daytime counterpart, and doesn’t waste time with humorous deflections. In fact he doesn’t say much at all; he’s too busy doing other things with his mouth. And his hands. And…well, you get the picture.

Amy doesn’t say much either. But she’s surprised to discover that half-asleep Amy is actually pretty noisy anyways. Afterwards, when they’re lying in a tangled pile of limbs, she debates whether to comment or not.

Jake, whose face is buried in her neck again from when he collapsed on top of her, speaks first. “Well, that was freaking amazing,” he says with gratification, his voice muffled. Then he lifts his head so he can look at her face in the dim light coming from the streetlights outside. “I bet your couch has never seen anything like it.”

Amy chuckles. “Nope,” she confirms and he smiles and kisses her, then lifts his weight off her and pulls himself into a sitting position.

She lifts her arms limply. “Where are you going?”

“To bed, of course. C’mon.” He pulls on one of her hands. “We can’t sleep out here all night, we have to be well rested for Jake and Amy’s Big Day Out tomorrow. C’mon, get up.”

“I can’t,” she groans. “My bones have melted.”

“Ha!” he says, and even in the darkness she can see that he looks very pleased with himself. “Am I going to have to carry you?”

“Yes!” she says hopefully.

“Well, okay, but I warn you, it will _not_ be romantic,” he says, as he stands up and proceeds to pull her up into a fireman’s lift. “Great view, though,” he comments, as he carries her into the bedroom.

“Not as good as mine,” she teases, smacking his butt. He retaliates by tossing her on the bed, jumping on top of her, and blowing raspberries into her neck until she begs for mercy, paralyzed by laughter. When he finally releases her, she pulls down the covers, crawls in, and pulls him in after her.

As soon as she’s under the warm covers, she starts to get sleepy again, and she can tell that Jake (once he’s arranged himself back into pretty much the exact position they woke up in), is the same. She can hear his breathing slowing down, and his grip around her waist is loosening. She rubs his back and presses a kiss into his hairline.

“Hey, Jake?” she whispers into the darkness.

“Hmmmmmm?” he hums.

“Thanks for cheering me up,” she says quietly.

He lifts his head and smiles at her sleepily, then leans in and kisses her firmly on the lips.

“Anytime,” he mumbles agreeably, and puts his head back down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Foo Fighters' "Everlong".
> 
> One of the commenters on the last chapter requested some 'action', a challenge which I have tried to meet here - not very successfully, I'm afraid. Turns out I'm too much of a prude, just as I feared.


	4. Jake and Amy's Big Day Out

Amy wakes up when it’s just starting to get light out. They’re still as tangled up together as they were when they fell asleep. Not wanting to disturb Jake, she turns her head on the pillow and squints at the nearest alarm clock. Having confirmed that it is in fact 1) not yet 6am and 2) her day off, she turns back towards Jake and settles herself more comfortably. She thinks about her normal checklist of tasks, chores, and errands for days off, and how she has no idea what’s going to happen today. Given how late they were up last night, it might end up being Jake and Amy’s Big Day _In._

 _Fine with me,_ she thinks with sleepy contentment and, pulling Jake a little closer, falls back to sleep.

*~*~*~*~*

Jake wakes up about an hour later because he can’t breathe. Having clawed his nose and mouth free of Amy’s hair, he sits upright and gasps, trying to take deep breaths so that he doesn’t turn a sleep-related mishap into a full-blown asthma attack. Naturally, this disturbs Amy and she jumps up too, wide awake and worried already.

“Jake? Are you okay?” she asks, putting a hand on his back and peering anxiously into his face.

“Fine, fine!” he gasps, trying to sound casual while fighting to breathe normally.

“Do you need your inhaler? Oh, God, was I smothering you?” she says, sounding increasingly frantic.

Her anxiety has the effect of calming him, and then he’s able to take a deep breath.

“No, it’s okay, I’m really fine,” he says, sounding more like himself. He looks at Amy, still hovering at his shoulder. “I promise.” He wraps an arm around her and pulls her back down onto the bed. “Morning. Sorry I woke you up with a heart attack.”

She gives him a quick kiss. “No problem. I won’t retaliate by killing you with morning breath.”

He laughs. “Especially since I’m pretty sure you forgot to brush your teeth last night, probably for the first time ever.”

Her eyes widen, and she claps a hand over her mouth. “Omigod!” she mumbles. “I did!” Before he can even react, she propels herself out of bed and into the bathroom, from which he immediately hears vigorous brushing noises.

“I can hear that!” he calls out, laughing harder. “You better shut the door if you’re planning to do anything else.”

He hears a muffled exclamation, followed by the sound of a door closing.

She comes back a few minutes later and climbs back into bed. “I left a toothbrush on the sink for you,” she says meaningfully.

He leans closer. “Is that your subtle way of saying I’ve got morning breath too?”

She doesn’t respond – just pulls the covers up so that only her eyes are showing.

“Okay, I can take a hint,” he says, chuckling, and goes off to take his turn.

When he comes back a few minutes later, he’s surprised to find Amy still in bed; he’d half-expected to find her already up and doing things. Instead she’s lying curled up like a cat in the early-morning sunshine, eyes half-closed and her head on his pillow.

He slides back under the covers and wraps his arms around her. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” he says cheerfully, and kisses her properly. She stretches herself against him and responds enthusiastically, until he breaks it off.

“I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but – we’re on a schedule,” he says.

She frowns at him, then feels his forehead. “Do you have a fever?” she asks with mock concern.

“No, I just have a plan,” he says with a grin. “You didn’t forget, did you? Jake and Amy’s Big Day Out!”

“No,” she says, laughing, “I just didn’t think we’d be starting it at 7:30 in the morning.”

“Well, _you_ don’t have to do anything yet,” he says. “I’ve got a few last things to organize, and then I’ll be back here to pick you up. Do you think you can be ready by -” he lifts his head to look at the clock “- 9:00?”

“Yes!” she says. “How should I dress? Skiwear? Ballgown? Gorilla suit?”

He laughs out loud (a feat she never gets tired of achieving) and shakes his head. “Just wear something you’ll be comfortable in for a fun day out.” He kisses her again, then sits up and looks around. “Where the heck are my clothes?”

“Um, living room?” Amy says, trying not to blush.

“Right!” Jake exclaims, and leaps out of bed. She can hear him rummaging around in the living room and muttering. “Damn, how did this end up over here?”

Fully dressed, he sticks his head back in the bedroom. “Oh, and bring a bathing suit,” he adds, and ducks out again. “And don’t eat breakfast, because we’re starting with breakfast. Okay? Be back soon!” he calls, and then she hears her front door slam.

She lies in bed for five more minutes, enjoying the feeling of having absolutely nothing to do; then, suddenly feeling like a kid on summer vacation, she jumps out of bed and starts getting ready.

*~*~*~*~*

She’s sitting outside on her stoop, dressed and ready, when he pulls up at 9:00 on the dot. She ostentatiously checks her watch, and gives him a thumbs-up.

He jumps out of the car and wags a finger at her. “Don’t get sassy with me, Santiago, or I’ll get out the blindfold,” he says. He’s wearing shorts, a t-shirt, and sneakers, which doesn’t tell her anything.

“Ooh, kinky,” she teases, and stands up to walk down the steps to where he’s standing on the sidewalk.

“Nice dress,” he says, touching the shoulder of her flowered sundress lightly. “I was kind of hoping for the gorilla suit, though.”

“Maybe later,” she says, trying to sound seductive, then kisses him.

“Such a dork,” he says with a grin, then steps back to open the passenger’s side door of his car for her. She surreptitiously checks the back seat for clues while stashing her bag back there, but it’s empty. Of course he notices.

“It’s all in the trunk, nosey,” he admonishes, putting his own seatbelt on and starting the car. “It’s a _surprise_. Also I’m not dumb enough to leave stuff in the back seat in Brooklyn. That’s Cop 101, remember?”

They stop for breakfast at a diner she hasn’t been to before, then get back in the car and head south on Ocean Parkway. Amy has pretty strong suspicions about where they’re going, but she decides to just sit back and enjoy the ride. The sun is shining, the temperature is warm but not too hot, and Jake has the windows open to let the breeze in. Amy puts her sunglasses on and sticks her arm out the window, while the radio plays adult contemporary in the background. Jake is concentrating on driving; the rush-hour traffic has died down, but there are still plenty of other cars around. Amy looks over at him, idly thinking about how much less fidgety he is than usual; he hasn’t changed the radio station once since he picked her up.

Sensing her eyes on him, he glances over and smiles. “Are we having fun yet?”

She grins back. “So much fun,” she agrees, then looks back out the window, thinking about how true it is. Hanging out with Jake, regardless of what they’re doing, is pretty much the most fun way to spend time that she knows. When did that happen - and why did it take her so long to notice?

Amy’s suspicions are proven correct when Jake pulls into a parking lot at Coney Island 30 minutes later. Jake, excited, bounces out of the car and runs around to the trunk. Amy pulls her bag out of the bag and roots around to extract her sun hat. Jake looks up from pulling stuff out of the trunk and grins at her.

“When did you guess?” he asks, slamming the trunk shut.

“I didn’t,” she says with a shrug. “But I had a pretty good idea, so I came prepared.”

“Smort,” he says approvingly. He slides a backpack onto his shoulders, then picks up another bag and two folding chairs. “Let’s go! Oh, wait – beach first, or boardwalk?”

“Definitely beach,” she replies.

It’s still early enough that the beach isn’t crowded, and they set themselves up halfway between the boardwalk and the water’s edge. Amy starts taking off her sundress, causing Jake to do a double-take until he realizes she’s wearing her bathing suit underneath. Then she reaches into her bag and pulls out a tube of sunscreen, which she starts applying to her legs. Jake finds himself riveted by this, then remembers he’s in public and looks around for a distraction. He clears his throat. “Got any more of that?”

Amy looks up. “Sunscreen?” she asks. “Yeah, there’s another tube in my bag.”

Jake starts rooting around. “Wow, you really did come prepared.” He looks up. “You brought a book? _Wow_. Are you trying to tell me something?”

Amy’s head snaps up. “No!” she protests, then notices that he’s grinning. She smiles sheepishly. “I always have a book with me. I promise it’s nothing to do with the company.”

“Santiago style,” Jake says. “I guess that explains the notebook too.” He finally finds the sunblock, and slathers it on haphazardly, then hurls it back into the bag. “Race you!” he yells. “Last one into the water is a rotten egg!”

Amy’s competitive urges are instantly engaged; with a shriek, she drops her own tube of sunblock and charges after him. She just beats him into the water, but doesn’t stay long; her own momentum carries her in past her knees, at which point she shrieks again, loudly, and reverses direction.

“What’s wrong?” Jake calls.

“Cold!” Amy squeaks. “Cold cold cold cold cold!”

“Wow,” Jake drawls provokingly. “And I thought you were so tough, Santiago. I guess I’ll have to go in by myself.”

Amy glares at him, her eyes narrowing. Then she turns around and runs in again, hurling herself headlong into the surf. Jake follows right behind her, and they surface at the same time.

Jake laughs and shakes his head like a dog. “Well, that _is_ refreshing!” he says cheerfully, trying to disguise the fact that his teeth are chattering. “I’m s-so glad you s-suggested it!”

“Oh! My! God!” Amy gasps, pushing wet hair out of her eyes. “It’s s-so! C-cold! I can’t t-take it. I don’t c-care if you do think I’m a wimp, I have to g-get out!”

He wraps his arms around her and kisses her. “A wimp? Never!” He grins. “Easily goaded, yes, but a wimp, no.”

She splashes water on him, then kisses him back. “Nope, s-still not enough to warm m-me up,” she says, and turns to go in, dragging him along behind her.

They spend the rest of the morning hanging out on the sand, alternating between lounging in chairs and playing catch and frisbee. By twelve-thirty they’re hungry again, and Jake reveals that one of the bags is actually a cooler full of lunch.

“Fancy,” Amy comments, as Jake extracts plastic tumblers and pours drinks to go with their sandwiches (seltzer for her, orange soda for him).

“It’s Charles’,” Jake explains, as he digs around again and produces napkins. “He provided not only the equipment but also the meal.”

“Well, it’s all great,” Amy says, smiling at him from under the brim of her sun hat. “I’m really enjoying Jake and Amy’s Big Day Out.”

Jake smiles back, feeling himself blush again. “Me too,” he says, then looks around to regain his composure. “Man, I love the beach. This was always my favorite place to be in the summer.”

Amy looks down the beach. “Mine too,” she said. “We used to go every Sunday. I always wished we could get a house at the shore – even just for a week – but my mom always said it was too much money and hassle with so many of us.”

Jake nods. “Yeah, same here. Except with us it was just the money part.” He sighs, then suddenly lights up as an idea pops into his head. “Hey, you know what -” he blurts, then cuts himself off abruptly.

“What?” Amy asks, turning to look at him.

He coughs to cover up his confusion. “Sorry, swallowed the wrong way,” he says, thumping his chest.

“What were you going to say?” she persists, peering at him.

“Oh – just – you know what else Charles packed? Dessert!” he says, sticking his hand back in the cooler bag and pulling out a container of cookies.

“Oh, cool,” she says, sitting back. She doesn’t look entirely convinced by his diversion.

He turns back to look at the horizon, clearing his throat again and thinking about what he had been about to blurt out.

 _Hey, you know what we should do? We should get a house at the shore this summer!_ That’s what. But it’s way too soon for that. Isn’t it? It’s only been four days. You can’t suggest renting a beach house to someone four days into a relationship. Right? That’s Full Boyle territory: a place Jake has never even considered going before.

*~*~*~*~*

After lunch they sit quietly, people watching and digesting their food. After a while Amy flops out of her chair, onto one of the towels that they spread on the sand to dry after they came out of the water.

“Whatcha doin’?” Jake asks.

Amy lifts her head and looks up at him. “Naptime,” she mumbles, then flops back down. “Too much lunch and sun. Too little sleep last night,” he hears her add as she buries her face in her folded arms. He grins at that, and crawls down next to her. Before he dozes off too, he remembers to secure the bag with the valuables in it. (Idyllic day out or not, they are still in New York City, and the only thing more embarrassing than one cop getting robbed is two cops getting robbed.)

When he wakes up, the day is moving from mid- to late-afternoon. Jake sits up and yawns, noticing that the sun is at a different angle and that the shoreline is a lot closer than the last time he looked. Next to him, Amy turns over and stretches, then squints up at him. “What time is it?” she asks groggily.

He looks at his watch. “Almost four o’clock,” he says with some surprise.

She sits up and pokes at her hair. “What? That means we’ve been asleep for, like, three hours?” She looks around, still dazed. “Did we get robbed?”

Jake chuckles. “Nah, more like two. And I secured the valuables.” He sticks his hand under his towel and yanks out her beach bag. She starts digging around in it, finds a brush, and starts working on the tangles in her hair. “Boardwalk next?” she asks, grimacing as she hits a particularly big snarl.

“Sure, if you’re up for it,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant in case she wants to call it a day.

“Hell, yeah, Peralta,” she says. “When else am I going to get the chance to kick your butt at air hockey?”

“Oh, it’s like that, huh?” he sasses back. “Well, how about we make it interesting?”

She gives him a look. “What’d you have in mind?”

He grins at her and wiggles his eyebrows. “Winner gets to pick their gross boardwalk snack of choice. Loser pays.”

She sticks her hand out. “Oh yeah, it is _so_ on. I hope you like fried dough.”

He grabs her hand and shakes. “Joke’s on you, Santiago. I like every gross boardwalk snack there is.”

Short version: they dump all the stuff in the car, then go back to the boardwalk, where they play five games of air hockey (Jake wins). Amy challenges double or nothing on Pac-Man, and they play seven games of that (Amy wins). Jake counter-challenges triple or nothing on skee-ball, which leads to the machine spitting out approximately 50,000 tickets. Wrangling those makes them forget who was winning, and then they realize they’re all out of quarters.

They hand over the tickets to a group of delighted adolescents, and walk back out onto the boardwalk. “How are we going to figure out who won?” Jake asks.

Amy grins. “I’m pretty sure you were winning,” she says magnanimously. “You can pick.”

“Woot!” Jake cheers. “Well, luckily there’s no need to pick. We’re at Coney Island – there’s only one place you _have_ to go.”

There’s a line at Nathan’s Famous (according to Jake there’s _always_ a line at Nathan’s Famous), but somehow Amy is not really surprised to hear someone hailing them as soon as they arrive and start perusing the menu.

“Jakey!” They turn to see a big guy their own age barrelling toward them from behind the counter. He grabs Jake’s outstretched hand and pulls him into a bear hug, thumping him on the back. “Where you been? You’re usually here soon as the snow melts! Whaddaya been, undercover with the mob or something?”

Chuckling uneasily, Jake extricates himself. “Sorry, Benny, things have been a little crazy at the precinct lately.” He turns to Amy. “Amy, this my very old friend Benny Schwartz. Benny, this is Amy Santiago.”

“Amy, nice to meetcha!” He pumps Amy’s hand. “I’m very honoured,” he goes on with mock formality, “Jakey _never_ brings his girls here.” He whacks Jake on the shoulder. “Like that girl I saw you with at the Islanders game a few months ago, huh? How come you never brought her here? What was her name again?”

“Val,” Jake says, sounding strangled. Amy glances over at him, bemused; his face is red and his expression pained.

“So, what do you recommend?” she blurts out as Benny, oblivious, is opening his mouth to carry on. Luckily he’s immediately distracted.

“Oh, it’s gotta be two Peralta Specials for you guys, right, Jakey?” Benny booms.

“Oh yeah,” Jake says, still sounding unnaturally tense. Benny charges off; Amy turns to Jake and says, “So, what’s a Peralta Special? Or shouldn’t I ask?”

He glances at her and smiles briefly, still embarrassed. “Extra ketchup, mustard, and relish, and an orange soda. Not really _that_ special.”

Benny is already on his way back with their order, so Amy reaches into her bag for her wallet. “No way!” Benny says as he thrusts the food into Jake’s hands. “On the house.”

Jake leads the way outside to a nearby bench and distributes the food, uncharacteristically silent and subdued. Amy watches him, trying not to smile, and as he hands her her drink, he looks at her. “What?” he says.

“Nothing,” she says, still trying not to smile, not very successfully. “I’m just…learning so much.”

He rolls his eyes. “Benny’s a great guy, but man has he got no filter,” he groans.

Amy leans forward and puts a hand on his arm. “Jake, I know you’ve dated other people. It’s not a big deal. It’s only been four days.”

This only makes him groan louder – and blush again – but instead of trying to explain further, he takes an enormous bite of his hot dog and stares straight ahead, running one hand through his hair in what Amy knows is one of his tells of discomfort.

She can’t help herself though; she leans over again, and says, very quietly, “So – _have_ you brought any other girls here?”

In response, he emits only a strangled shriek, then bends over and buries his face in his hands.

Amy can’t keep it in anymore; she laughs out loud, then slides over, puts her arm around him, and kisses him on his (very red) ear. “I’m honoured,” she whispers. He peers out from behind his hand and she smiles at him. “For realz.” When he smiles back, she kisses him for good measure.

*~*~*~*~*

They don’t remember that they’re supposed to be making a plan to thwart The Vulture until they’re in the car on the way home. Amy is lolling in the passenger’s seat, thoroughly content, until her thoughts drift to the next day. She groans aloud.

“’S’matter?” Jake asks.

“Ugh, I just started thinking about work tomorrow. The Vulture! We still need a plan, Jake!”

“Oh, damn! You’re right. How about we get some takeout and strategize?” he suggests, then wonders again if she’s ready to call it a day.

“Cool. Do you like Thai? There’s a good place in my neighbourhood,” she says, already digging for her phone. “I can run and pick it up while you park the car?”

“Takeout and strategize” morphs into Thai food and _John Wick_ on Amy’s couch, and a lot of improbable suggestions about using plot devices from the film on The Vulture, but no realistic plan. Amy doesn’t seem to mind, though. “There’s always tomorrow,” she shrugs, when the movie ends and she gets up to start clearing the table.

Jake helps her put away leftovers and clean up dirty dishes and containers, then hangs up the cloth he was using resolutely. “Well, I should probably get going,” he begins.

Amy shuts off the water and turns toward him. “You should? Why? The day’s not over yet, is it?” she asks with feigned confusion, closing the distance between them.

Jake rubs the back of his neck. “Well, it has been 24 hours already. I don’t want to, you know, overstay my welcome.”

Amy stops right in front of him, and slides her arms around his waist. “I don’t think you need to worry about that,” she murmurs.

~*~*~*~*~

Amy falls asleep first that night. Jake, starting to drift off himself, looks at her face, barely visible in the dim light, and thinks back over Jake and Amy’s Big Day Out.

“We should get a house at the shore this summer,” he mumbles to himself, very quietly.

“Mm nm guh,” Amy says, and then they’re both asleep.


End file.
